


there is nothing but pleasure, even when you hurt me

by Angelic_Disaster



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bloodplay, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Crying, DO YOU THINK THAT'S GOING TO STOP ME?, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Heavy Angst, I REGRET NOTHING, I have no idea if some of this shit is anatomically possible BUT OH WELL, M/M, Major character death at the end but if youre here for the unconventional porn you can ignore it, Mild Necrophilia, No beta we die like Will and Hannibal, Rimming, Sadism, Sadist Will Graham, Sit down this is going to be a wild ride, Suicide, Toxic Relationship, Unconventional Masochism, Unconventional Penetration, Unconventional blowjob, Vulnerable Will Graham, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will fucks Hannibals bullet wound, Will uses his stabd wound to make a gory blowjob, bulletwound rimming, but oh boy if you like angst, sadist Hannibal Lecter, this is so fucked up, unconventional rimming, you will know where to stop reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelic_Disaster/pseuds/Angelic_Disaster
Summary: "Your cruelty is breathtaking. I rejoice at being granted to watch you." Those words shouldn’t be said with such an adoring tone. They shouldn’t feel like some twisted devotion. They shouldn't make Will ache inside. Still, they do. "I would have never thought that I could enjoy violence against me. But here you are Will, and here I am.""Do you enjoy it even when it is directed against you?""Especially then."Will nods and pushes inside Hannibal with his fingers again, deeper. He feels the flesh and hopes that what he had just touched is an organ."Are you enjoying this?"Hannibal's answer is immediate and it comes dangerously close to sounding like a moan"Yes."---Or: Will fucks Hannibal through the bullet wound.Please, I beg you: read the tags.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	there is nothing but pleasure, even when you hurt me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm welcoming the year 2021 with this. Hello everybody, please read the tags and have a fun time. 
> 
> If you're coming for the angst, welcome.  
> If you're coming only for the porn, welcome, you shall want to stop reading after Will comes.  
> If you're coming for both, hope you have a great time.

The wind roars furiously. The smell of salt burns their lungs. Will's hand is grabbing tightly at Hannibal's shirt; he can feel Hannibal's heartbeat against his cheek. 

This should be their end. 

It isn’t. 

"Come on." Will says breathing heavily, he raises his eyes and finds Hannibal's face, a perfect vision of raw need. "We should go inside. We need to clean your wounds."

  
  
  


"You'll have to guide me if we're doing this." Will says as he helps Hannibal while they enter the house. The time is not exactly on their side. The FBI will be there at any hour now, and only one of them would leave the house alive then. If. 

"The bullet is not inside me. I can stitch the exit wound, but you should help me with the one in my back." Hannibal's voice comes out husky, his breath ragged, barely managing to finish speaking without stopping mid sentence to breathe. He walks holding onto Will's shoulder for balance, and stops in the center of the room. The piano is behind him as the moment the shot fired. Hannibal looks at Will the same as before: sickenly adoring. Maybe even more. "You should let me stitch your cheek. And take a look at your shoulder." 

"I won't die from my wounds, Hannibal. Yours first." Will says and doesn't look at him at the face at all, helping him into a chair.

Hannibal hums, then tilts his head to ask, with honest curiosity, "You don't wish me dead anymore, Will?" 

_Yes. No. I don't know._

Will doesn't have an answer. So instead, he asks,

"What do you think?"

"I'm afraid that I'm still unable to predict you." Hannibal sits on the chair, and even bleeding, with untamed hair and disheveled clothes he doesn't lose his air of elegance. Bastard. 

"Where is the first aid kit?" 

"In the bathroom. Under the sink." 

The first aid kit is more than filled with everything they're going to need. Will washes his hands meanwhile, and grabs a towel. 

Cleaning Hannibal's wounds is less intimate than Will had thought. It has always felt different when Hannibal cleaned his. Maybe it was because his wounds were always related to Hannibal. 

Or maybe it is because he feels completely disconnected from the world around him.

Neither of them speak as Will helps Hannibal undress; and neither of them speak as Will kneels in front of him and begins cleaning the blood from him. Until:

"What about your organs?" 

Hannibal doesn't blink. Or at least Will doesn't hear him blink. The room is so quiet he is sure he will if Hannibal does it. 

After a moment of consideration Hannibal says "You don't need to worry about it." 

"Shouldn't I?"

"Should you?" 

Will still doesn't look at him. The room is still quiet. Will looks at the still bleeding wound on Hannibal's side. A fine thread of blood and exposed flesh.

"My organs are fine Will." He answers after a pause.

Will nods before helping Hannibal turn in the chair so he can clean his back. Hannibal's skin is cold where Will's fingertips touch. 

The white towel is now stained red, and Will picks up the needle and thread.

"You should let me use the syringe and the anesthetics. It would take only a moment for it to make effect. And--"

Will cuts him before he can finish speaking, "I'm not using anesthetics on you Hannibal." His tone doesn't show any emotion. Not anger or resentment. Just the fact. 

Hannibal sighs and nods, "Very well."

They keep silence as Will works the entry wound on his back. Hannibal doesn't make a sound. Will can't see him, he doesn't try to, but he knows Hannibal's face hasn't changed either. It is perfectly still, erased from any expression. It's fine. 

Or maybe it is not fine. Will isn't sure if he wants Hannibal suffering and reduced under his touch, as he isn't sure if he wants him dead. He supposes he will know eventually.

The entry wound is finished and Will takes a moment to contemplate his work. Will is not a surgeon, his work is far from perfect and it will leave a nasty scar. Good. Honestly, it's only fair.

"Turn around." He orders and Hannibal does. With difficulty and with Will's help, but he does without complaining.

Will still isn't sure if that's what he wants or not.

He kneels again and Hannibal doesn't stop him, nor tries to take the needle from him. He is awfully accommodating and Will wants to get angry with him. 

He never thought that he would see the day in which Hannibal would shut his mouth for more than ten seconds. 

He thought, in the very sparse moments he fantasized about it, that he would have enjoyed an obedient Hannibal. 

It turns out that he doesn't. 

The thought surprises him and at the same time it doesn't. 

Will stays still looking at Hannibal's side, never upper, never at his face. He looks at the exit wound that is bigger than the entry one and wonders about Hannibal's pain. 

"You sure the bullet is out? No fragments inside? No damaged organs?" Will asks and his voice is hoarse from disuse. He doesn't really wonder how much time they had been there. 

Hannibal doesn't answer, but Will hears him tilt the head. Will also doesn't worry about time, with this silence they will hear the police cars with enough time to escape. 

Escape. They. Both. Together. 

Will doesn't stop to think much more about it. It makes sense. Together it's the only way they can exist.

He is still wondering about Hannibal's pain and Hannibal's death. He wonders how he will feel about them. He supposes he will know when the moment comes.

The thread of blood coming from the wound is thin, dark red and shines under the warm artificial light.

Will thinks about grabbing the towel and cleaning the wound again. He thinks about Hannibal in pain and stitching him without anesthetic. He thinks about blurred boundaries. 

He wonders if boundaries between them exist anymore. 

He doesn't need to think about it too much. The answer is no. 

The lines between them don't exist anymore. They're one. They crossed whichever boundaries were left long ago. They crawled inside the other. Their mind palaces share rooms, hallways and entire wings. 

At this point, the only thing left for them is to share their flesh.

And Will's chain of thought comes back to Hannibal's cold skin, open wound and wine-like blood. 

Touching Hannibal's blood feels like touching ice. Cold at first, but with every second that passes it starts to burn. 

Will traces the path of Hannibal's blood with his thumb until it's soaked in it and brings it to his mouth. 

Hannibal’s blood tastes like blood and it doesn't embriage him nor makes him feral and to crave human flesh. It doesn't spark fireworks behind his eyelids nor breaks the ground. It disappoints him, but it's okay.

But he still wonders about Hannibal's pain, and he brings his finger to Hannibal's skin again as he leaves the needle on the floor. 

He touches the exit wound with his index finger. It's soaked and it's warm. Not burning hot, just warm and Will realises he is cold. He wonders if the inside of Hannibal's chest would be warm like this, and if he could fit inside it.

Hannibal makes a pained sound, so subtle it's barely audible.

Will doesn't need to wonder anymore if he fits inside Hannibal's chest. He knows he is already living inside. 

Will pushes his finger all the way inside of Hannibal's wound, and Hannibal doesn't whimper and doesn't moan. He doesn’t move. And he is still awfully, _sickening_ , accommodating. 

"I wouldn't have thought of you as a masochist." Will says. It's the first time he speaks and it comes out with some resemblance of humour and the ghost of a side grin. 

"I am not." 

There is more behind that.

Will pushes another finger inside and can feel the flesh resist and break, and more blood to spill out. He twists them and Hannibal makes a sharp inhale. He still doesn't try to stop Will. He also doesn't complain. 

"But?" he asks.

"Your cruelty is breathtaking. I rejoice at being granted to watch you." Those words shouldn’t be said with such an adoring intonation. They shouldn’t feel like some twisted devotion. They shouldn't make Will ache inside. Still, they do. "I would have never thought that I could enjoy violence against me. But here you are Will, and here I am."

"Do you enjoy it even when it is directed against you?"

"Especially then."

Will nods and pushes inside Hannibal with his fingers again, deeper. He feels the flesh, the muscles and the fat; and hopes that what he had just touched is an organ.

"Are you enjoying this?"

Hannibal's answer is immediate and it comes dangerously close to sounding like a moan _"Yes."_

That sound finally makes something inside Will snap. He wants more. He wants Hannibal to break. He wants to tear emotions from him with his fingers, pull them from inside like one would pull out a thread. A red, soaking and warm thread connected directly to his chest. Will wants to touch every nerve, pull out every vein, open Hannibal's body and sink his teeth at every organ. He wants to turn him from the inside out and clean Hannibal's lungs with his tongue and hold Hannibal's heart in his hands. 

"Are you enjoying this too, Will?"

The answer is immediate, and Will feels drunk when he speaks, "Yes."

"Don't stop then." 

Will doesn't plan to. 

He pulls out his fingers and Hannibal's body flinch in pain and then relaxes. 

It makes Will go feral. He wants more. He wants to make Hannibal crumb. He wants to destroy him entirely, dismember him just to pull him together again.

Will is kneeling in front of Hannibal, the wound just in front of his line of sight and it's unimaginable for him to look at any other thing. He can't tear his eyes apart from the open hole that seems to gap, calling for him like some sirens song. He wants to come inside Hannibal, enter his body, make that wound his, like every wound and scar in his own body is Hannibal's. 

Will pushes himself forward, a hand sliding behind Hannibal's back, caressing the closed wound. The other around Hannibal's stomach, hand placed at his waist. Will made the space between Hannibal's legs his; both knees on the floor, armpits resting on top of Hannibal thighs as he pushes his face forward and starts licking around and inside Hannibal's, _his,_ wound.

It's groundbreaking, it's firework worthy, Hannibal's blood tastes like blood and it's exquisite and it makes him crave for more. 

So Will pushes his tongue inside, blood flooding his mouth; eyes rolling back behind his skull; a moan pulled from the core of him, vibrating in his whole body and reverberating towards Hannibal, echoing inside him and coming out from Hannibal's mouth in a perfect chain. 

Hannibal finally moves and buries his hand into Will's hair. It's big and it covers more than half of the back of Will's head. It's glorious and Will can't stop himself from rutting his hips on the floor and opening his legs; leaning forward, towards Hannibal and Hannibal's heat, Will's chest colliding against his half-hard cock.

"Does it hurt?" Will asks, flat and wet tongue licking around the bullet hole, his head following the path of his tongue. 

"Yes" Hannibal answers with a moan. "Don't stop."

Will doesn't rejoice only in making Hannibal feel pain. He also wants to torture him. He also wants to give him pleasure. He wants everything, every emotion, every sound, every expression and flinch and shiver that he can pull from the other man.

It's the first time since they entered the house that Will looks up and locks eyes with Hannibal. 

"Do you enjoy being cruel to me, Hannibal?" 

Hannibal's gaze is blurred and dark, Will had never seen his face as raw as it's now. There are too many emotions, and there is something hidden behind the glistening in Hannibal's eyes. Will wants it, no matter what it is, it must be his.

"No more secrets Hannibal, no more hiding. There should be no more barriers between us." Will says voice broken with need, "Tell me and be honest. Do you feel pleasure from hurting me?"

Hannibal's grip in his hair tightens.

"Yes."

"Then do it."

Hannibal's other hand comes to Will's face, and they are at Hannibal's kitchen in Baltimore once again. There is enough blood on the floor to feel like it. Will shivers from head to toe under Hannibal's intense gaze, and feels his stomach clench to the sensation of a knife in his gut that doesn't come but has never left.

"Open" Hannibal commands and Will does.

He opens his mouth and Hannibal pushes two of his fingers inside Will's mouth from the wound in his cheek. It stings.

Will's eyes stay open but turn white, the intensity of everything making them roll back. He moans and it comes out wet and loud. Hannibal watches, between Will’s lips, Will's tongue licking his fingers. He watches saliva gather at the back of his throat. Hannibal caresses tooth by tooth with the tip of his fingers before leaning over him and pulling Will from the hair towards him in a kiss. 

It's violent, it’s desperate. It’s teeth and tongues and blood and lips and Hannibal's fingers and moans and pain.

It's divine. 

"I want more," Hannibal says, backing less than an inch, lips still touching, fingers still inside of Will's mouth. 

Will manages to answer without pulling them out, 

"How do you want me?"

"Like this," he breathes out. Will rushes his hands to open Hannibal's slacks, pulling his cock out. It is as hard as it will get with how much blood Hannibal has lost. Will knows his own is achingly hard. He hopes Hannibal knows. He hopes Hannibal knows how much it hurts him, how desperately he wants to touch himself and won't. 

Hannibal knows.

Will takes Hannibal's cock with his hand and draws him to his lips. 

"Hurt me," Hannibal says.

Will swallows Hanninal in one go until his mouth is full and it hits against his throat. Will looks at Hannibal with half lidded eyes, a wet sound echoes when he pulls Hannibal's dick out.

"You wanted to take everything from me," Will says while stroking him with his hand, holding Hannibal's free wrist in the other hand, drawing it to his open cheek. "Do it now. Take everything from me that is not you. But promise me to give everything of yourself to me."

"Do you not know Will, that I am already entirely and hopelessly yours?" 

Will knows. Still it's good to hear it out loud. No more hiding behind twisted words and half truths, no more barriers for once. It also feels good to yield that power over Hannibal’s head and watch him crumble; watch him take off the person suit, watch him breaking down at his feet. Will wants to take him apart, piece by piece, until Hannibal will fade into nothingness, only for Will to make him whole again. 

"Then I am yours Hannibal. Take and don't be gentle."

And Hannibal isn't. He grabs Will's hair with both hands, pulls him up and down, and down, and _down_ over his cock. Deeper until Will's eyes start to water. And then deeper, until Will chokes and his body fight and his throat breaks. 

"You neither."

And Will isn't. His nails are sharp, making white half moons on the cinnamon skin and his fingers hold tight on Hannibal's waist, marking the spot in which will grow violet and yellow bruises. Will doesn't make it a pleasant situation. He doesn't suck and he uses too much teeth on purpose. 

It feels like ecstasy.

Hannibal pulls Will's hair towards the left and this time Will follows Hannibal's lead. 

The trusts are wild, Hannibal is reduced to an uncontrollable, intense staccato of movement and heat. 

It keeps going until Will tilts his head. There are still teeth grazing his skin, but his length disappears into Will's mouth between Will's swollen lips; and it appears again, coming out of Will's mouth from the wound on his cheek and Hannibal comes in the spot. Spunk falling on the floor, on Will's skin and hair. Blood and spit dripping from Will's lips and wound, all the way to his chin and onto the floor. 

Will smiles as he stands up, unbuttoning his slacks, pulling out his thick, wet and achingly hard cock.

"I'm going to take now, Hannibal," he says, sitting on Hannibal's thigh, one knee resting between Hannibal's legs on the chair, the other with the foot on the floor, and he lines himself with the open bullet wound, holding into Hannibal's hair with one of his hands. The other firmly placed on Hannibal’s shoulder.

Hannibal's skin is no longer cold, it burns and Hannibal look at him with fevered eyes and like he wants to throw Will in the closest flat surfaces and ravish him, fuck him and be fucked by him until Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham stop existing as two different people but rather bits and pieces of the same person in two united bodies.

And they become. 

Hannibal is so tight it hurts both of them. Hannibal's body is hot and so wet, and Will is sure that he is poking an organ with the head of his cock. It drives him mad with need and buries himself in. The trusts are as violent as Hannibal's trusts and their relationship had been. It's the most perfect balance between pleasure and pain.

Will comes inside him in what feels an eternity made of ephemeral seconds.

Hannibal's skin is cold.

Hannibal Lecter is dead. 

The truth of that statement freezes Will on the spot. 

_Hannibal Lecter is dead. Hannibal Lecter is dead. Hannibal Lecter is dead._

Will is still holding onto him.

_Hannibal Lecter is dead._

The world stopped as soon the thought entered Will's mind. 

_Hannibal Lecter is dead._

The world stopped spinning and Will stopped breathing. 

_Hannibal Lecter is dead._

First, the light. Everything is dark except for the brilliant red of the blood on the floor and Hannibal's eyes still open. He is gone, but he is still looking at Will with the same adoring expression in his face, as if Will is holding his heart between his hands.

Second, the sound. The silence is loud. It is impossible to know if the sound that is overwhelming Will comes from outside the house, the sound of the ocean roaring unforgiving and hungry; or from inside of himself, the sound of his blood running merciless and enraged in his body. 

Hannibal can't die. No if Will is still alive.

He throws Hannibal's body out of the chair, back hitting the floor; he helps him to not hit his head and kneels at his side. He put his hands flat over Hannibal's chest. There is no heartbeat and Will starts to panic. He pushes, one two three; repeats, repeats and repeats. Hannibal's heart doesn't start beating again and Will is't sure if his own is beating anymore. 

He needs Hannibal's heart to beat again.

He runs out of the house into the night, he doesn't care about the cold, he doesn't give Dolarhyde's body a single glance, he only needs...

Will picks up the knife and runs to Hannibal again.

"I don't want you dead, come back, come back, Hannibal come back."

Will's hands shake as he rips Hannibal's shirt.

He pushes with his hands, one, two, three. It doesn't make any difference. 

Will cuts open Hannibal's chest with the knife, all flesh and viscera. He slides his hand under the organs and inside the ribs. He only needs to get to the heart. 

_"Hannibal, please"_ he begs, voice in a broken, wet whimper. He is sitting over Hannibal's lap, elbows deep inside him, crawling inside. 

He squeezes and repeats and repeats, mimicking a heartbeat. 

He is screaming Hannibal's name as he does. He can't stop and tears fall like rain.

He stops.

Hannibal Lecter is dead.

Will realizes it finally. And also that he is holding Hannibal's heart outside of his chest. Veins broken, flesh ripped. Will is shaking. Blood is dripping to the cavern of twisted viscera and rearranged organs under him. 

The grip is so tight that blood is flowing from inside, flesh open between and under Will's nails.

Hannibal's body is heartless under him, and he still looks at Will as adoring as he always did.

The thought comes to Will the same way all the thoughts of the last hour have come to him, in a matter of instinct; from inside his core, so animalistic that it doesn't even count as a thought. It is a need deep and overpowering, there is nothing else that he can do to satiate it, he needs to take and give and take and mark and--

"I won't let them have you."

\--there is blood in his mouth, and it's still hot, or as hot at it can be and will ever be, because it's only going to get colder. And there is blood and there is flesh between his fingers and between his teeth. It takes time, but is the only way.

Will doesn't think anymore.

Hannibal Lecter is dead. Will is eating what belongs to him, and only him.

He has to stop himself a couple of times, to stop the way his stomach flinches and his throat reacts at Will unstoppably shoving and shoving bites of heart inside. There is a burning bile crawling inside him. He can't let himself throw up, Hannibal has to stay inside him, fully. Every time the bile comes up, Will forces himself to swallow. 

It's not until Will is kneeling over Hannibal's body, until his face is over Hannibal's and until thick drops make the blood on Hannibal’s face turn a lighter shade and the tears clean the skin with it's trail, that Will realizes that he is crying.

It's not until his hands are empty and clean from blood that Will realizes that Hannibal is not only his heart, but he has a body, and is still warm and looking at him with the phantom of his devotion. 

And, it's not until he sees clearly that adoring gaze that Will realizes fully the extent of him and Hannibal.

But realisations always come too late. 

Will cups both of Hannibal cheeks with such tenderness he didn’t know he had inside him. Will's lips are cold, but he feels them heat against Hannibal's forehead. He stays there as tears keep falling, merciless.

"I won't let anyone keep us apart," he says, is a whisper against Hannibal's forehead. Will's touch is a caress, soft and loving. It hurts. Realizing that one of them had to die for them to stop hurting each other hurts more than anything they have done themselves in the past. 

Will's lips burn when they meet Hannibal's. They are both cold as death. Hannibal because he is dead, Will because he is not alive anymore.

  
  
  


Will drags Hannibal's body to the cliff, a track of blood following them behind. 

Will uses the last of his strength to make Hannibal stand with him; he holds onto Hannibal in a tight embrace and whispers,

"I'm sorry."

before throwing themselves off the cliff.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
